


Hot Blooded

by BlessedAreTheFandoms



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Anal Sex, Cardassian Anatomy, Dancing, Established Relationship, Inspired by Music, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedAreTheFandoms/pseuds/BlessedAreTheFandoms
Summary: Garak hacks into Julian's files and finds a thing called a "playlist," which prompts less of a conversation than a demonstration of why a particular song would make Julian think of them together.





	Hot Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> This would probably make more sense if you listened at some point to Foreigner's "Hot Blooded."  
(It's on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5c1m2BAg2Sc.)
> 
> Also, it's entirely un-beta'd, so sorry if there are bits that don't make sense.

Garak woke first. That he slept at all in these compromised evenings was still a minor miracle to him as he curled protectively around the lithe form of Julian Bashir. Julian had laughed, once, at Garak’s need to always be the “big spoon.” Garak had been quite ready to take offense until Julian had hastily explained that it was not a racial slur but an old human way of describing a form of lying together.

Garak was still unsure whether he liked the term.

He rolled away from Julian, missing the warmth against his _ChUla_ immediately. He dressed quietly, chasing away the station’s chill with layers on layers. Julian stretched and rolled over in his sleep, his face slack. Garak admired him a moment, two, wondering how on Cardassia he had managed to finally bed his dear doctor.

Out in the sitting area, Garak replicated himself some rokassa juice and sat down to Julian’s computer console. It had been some time—perhaps even a month—since Garak had done a system search for himself. It was always useful to know what other people were saying about you—and where. 

Deftly bypassing Julian’s security and carefully bypassing the station’s, Garak’s search was soon underway. He was unsurprised to find quite a few entries in the folder of Julian’s personal logs. Though his curiosity hummed fiercely, he left them unread. The doctor’s face often betrayed how he felt about, well, everything. Garak could leave him the privacy of the finer points of those reactions.

Garak read through the handful of security reports mentioning him, treading very carefully through Odo’s added measures. Other mentions were as expected on a Federation-held Cardassian space station staffed by Bajorans who saw only his ridges and their own pain.

But one return stopped him: “Garak Playlist.”

What was a playlist? Garak checked—Bashir had created it, unsurprisingly. When Garak opened the file, he saw that it was a collection of musical data; specifically, songs.

Garak heard Julian just before he leaned over Garak’s shoulder and kissed him on the temple. “Good morning,” said Julian, somewhat sleepily. “What are you—oh.”

“Oh?” replied Garak, trying too hard not to focus on the warmth spreading from the kiss. “Why ‘oh’?"

“What are you doing snooping through my files?”

Garak swiveled to faced Julian. “Not only _yours_,” he said, attempting to be reassuring.

The attempt fell flat. Julian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Did you at least refrain from planting some virus or other in the mainframe?”

Garak looked shocked. “Doctor! Surely you know I would never do such a thing—nor could I, as a simple, honest tailor.”

Julian snorted.

“And I didn’t read a one of your personal logs.”

Julian’s half-smile froze. “Garak, ah—I can explain—”

“I said I _didn’t _read them, Julian. That’s not a lie.”

“Forgive me for past experience lending some disbelief,” Julian replied, dryly.

Garak conceded the point. “But this is an altogether different kind of file. Tell me, what is a ‘playlist’?”

The deep red that stole over Julian’s golden skin was a somewhat common sight to Garak by now, but he never stopped being amazed by it. Humans were so entirely unprotected: genitals where anyone could get to them, faces that betrayed every emotion by a simple hormonal release. It really was no wonder such a species would be part of a creation like the Federation with its naïve optimism and hidden cruelties; they were practically designed to do it.

“A playlist is, ah,” stumbled Julian, “is a collection of songs around a central theme chosen by the creator.”

“And I am the theme of this creation?”

If possible, Julian reddened further. “You know, a long time ago it was considered a very romantic gesture for someone to make a playlist for someone else.”

Garak’s _emol_rose. Such a notion shouldn’t have surprised him; Julian was an incurable romantic, a personality quirk Garak tried very hard to pretend to discourage. He was suddenly fiercely glad Cardassians did not blush.

“So the songs are all romantic in nature?”  
  
Julian laughed. “No, not necessarily. It’s more about what makes one person think of the other.”

Garak turned back to the console and opened the list. Several were so obvious and ridiculous that he barely kept from snorting—he could only imagine the absurdity of a song like “Secret Agent Man.” But one stopped him. “‘Hot Blooded’?” he said quizzically. “But doctor, that is a false statement.” He turned back to see Julian’s eyes light up, seduction stealing over his features.

“Not you,” Julian murmured. He leaned across Garak and hit “play.” A thumping drum pounded rhythmically over the console’s speakers, intertwined with a pulsing electric instrument.

“_Girl I’m hot-blooded, check it and see—I got a fever of a hundred and three._”

Garak tapped the pause button. “Wouldn’t your species be dead at 103?”

Julian rolled his eyes. “The song was written when some people still used Fahrenheit rather than Celsius as their measuring system. One hundred three degrees Fahrenheit would only be uncomfortable to us—but still higher than our optimal temperature, yes. And you’ll have to excuse the gendering of the song; it was written by a man for a woman, as very few songs of the time recognized the value of homosexual relationships.” He pressed “play” again.

“_Come on baby, do you do more than dance? I’m hot-blooded, I’m hot-blooded._”

Garak paused the song again. “But the woman in question has been dancing, so shouldn’t she be the one who is warmer?”

Julian huffed in annoyance. “Garak, this is only going to be worth your hearing it if you’re not analyzing the song as you go. You need to—oh. Oh, one moment.” A conniving grin snuck over his face. “I know how to do this.”

He pulled Garak to his feet and guided him over to the couch. “Now,” Julian said authoritatively, “you’re going to watch more than listen. Playlists are about the _feel _of the music and how it makes you respond. Are you willing to try this in earnest?”

Garak looked skeptically at the doctor. It seemed very important, though he could not fathom why. “I will attempt to understand, my dear doctor.”

“No, no, Garak, it’s not about _understanding_. It’s—look, you know how you’re always telling me that enigma tales are about the _ways _in which everyone is guilty rather than the fact that they are?”

“Of course.”

“It’s sort of like that. Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to seduce you using this song, so you know that’s the ending.”

Garak’s eyes widened.

“But you don’t quite know _how_, so you have to let the rhythm—not the meaning, but the _rhythm _and the _feeling _of the song get you to that ending. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Garak said, “but I’m quite partial to this intended outcome.”

Julian smiled fondly. “You’re right, it was a terrible analogy. But just—well, insofar as you can, don’t overthink this, okay? That takes all the fun out of it.”

Garak barely kept himself from sighing. It seemed this, like Julian’s holosuite adventures, was a human concept that he would simply have to bear through. The end reward was, admittedly, quite worth whatever the rest of this so-called music would be like. He nodded.

“Good,” said Julian. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

Garak made a point of pressing himself further into the cushions.

Julian crossed to the wall and dimmed the lights manually until it was dusky even by Garak’s standards. The stars outside glowed coldly over Garak’s shoulders as Julian turned the music back on, blaringly loud. The _thum-thum-thum-thum_ of the opening instrument pulsed through the room and reverberated down each of Garak’s ridges. At the introduction of another instrumental layer, Julian stalked—there was no other word for it—over to Garak. With the vocals, he pulled off his top in rhythm, swaying his hips. The beat of the song changed and Julian’s shoulders began to twist, his torso rippling like a wave. “_You move so fine_,” crooned the vocalist as Julian turned and began to shift his weight, each joint following after. The man knew his body, knew exactly where the line ran razor-sharp between silliness and sexiness, and Garak suddenly did not care at all about the lyrics. The singer wondered if his love should stay all night and Julian dropped onto Garak’s knees, straddling his thighs. He ran his fingers over Garak’s shoulders, dragging his nails over the _pumel _and digging into the _kinat’hU_.

Garak’s hands came up to wrap around Julian’s waist, but Julian smiled and shook his head, pinning Garak’s hands back to the couch cushions. “_Is my timing right?_” Julian mouthed onto Garak’s ear along with the song, the breathy phrase accompanied by a brief lick and a sharp bite. Garak hissed in pleasure and Julian rolled himself down Garak’s front, grinding his hips against Garak’s _ajan_. Garak closed his hands around the fabric of the couch to keep them still and Julian pulled himself off as the vocalist dropped out. He danced with abandon, his bare chest catching the shimmering starlight, his hands cleverly pulling aside Garak’s clothing with surety, agonizing pauses between each clasp and fastener in the beat of the song. When Garak’s shirts were laid open, Julian licked a long stripe up his ridges to his _ChUla_ and lightly nipped the cartilage shape. Garak gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Julian’s smile flashed in the low light as he put his hands just under the waistband of Garak’s pants, pinning him in place, and the song told Garak again how the singer was hot-blooded as he felt the heat of Julian’s palms pushing against his hipbones, thumbs circling nearer and nearer his _ChUva_. Everting now seemed much more possible than when the song had started. The instruments wailed away and the vocalist asked something and Garak did not care as Julian’s fingers brushed against his _ajan_ and Julian’s hips swayed over his own and Julian’s lips and tongue devoured his _ojo_.

The song faded and Julian—warm, warm Julian—leaned away from Garak. “Did I get you to stop analyzing?” he smirked. 

Garak growled at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Julian laughed. “Now, here’s what’s next. I’m going to play the song again, since that seemed to go fairly well, but this time it’s no tease—I want you inside me, I want to dance with you feeling me move.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Garak heard his own laughter that he had pitied Julian’s earlier blushing—his own _ChU’en _were likely stunningly blue at the moment.

Julian returned to the console, shedding his trousers as he went, and the naked form of Julian Bashir did not slow Garak’s rising arousal one bit. After a moment Julian was back, pulling Garak’s own trousers down as Garak lifted his hips to help the task. “I set it on a bit of a delay,” Julian said. “I wanted to be ready. Are you ready?” He looked Garak directly in the eyes as he reached between them and palmed Garak’s _ajan _just _so_ and Garak everted, breathing through the pressure release. Julian kissed Garak on the lips, hard, before turning around so that his back nested flat against Garak’s chest. Leaning his head back against Garak’s temple, Julian reached behind him, between them, and gently pulled down the length of Garak’s _prUt_. With Garak’s natural lubrication, Julian began to open himself, one finger at a time. He was still somewhat loose from the night before and, as the song began to play again, he slid himself slowly down onto Garak.

“_Now_ you can move,” Julian said breathily as he bottomed out, and Garak wrapped his hands around Julian’s torso and cock as Julian began to move to the beat. He used the same general swaying motion as before, but the sensation against Garak’s _irllun _was electric. The beat became breathtaking, maddeningly slow and achingly right. Julian’s hand joined Garak’s over his own cock as they stroked together, thumbs rubbing over the tip, at a pace just off the music and the steady shifting of Julian with Garak inside. They kissed with Julian’s head turned into Garak’s, each connection open-mouthed and messy as Julian continued to undulate and oh, it felt all right as they built together, the drum pounding through them and Julian’s heat radiating out of his back into Garak’s chest and the song ended just before the rain broke over them both and they moaned into the sudden silence.

Julian slumped backwards into Garak, panting, shifting slightly as Garak’s _prUt_ slid out of him. He dropped his head backwards onto Garak’s shoulder and Garak pressed a soft kiss to the bared throat, an acknowledgement, a warning. Julian simply smiled at the ceiling. They breathed for a moment, two, before Garak resettled Julian to sit rather than kneel on his lap.

“I take it you approve of the playlist, then?” asked Julian.

Garak smiled. “It has its merits,” he said.

“So perhaps we can hear some of the other songs at some point?”

“Perhaps.”

Julian snorted quietly, turning toward Garak and curling into his arms, placing one warm hand against his _ChUla_. _Hot blooded, indeed_, Garak thought as the warmth curled its way around the framing ridges, and he wondered whether perhaps “Secret Agent Man” wouldn’t prove to be as surprisingly _diverting_ a song as this.

**Author's Note:**

> My ever-increasing gratitude to tinsnip's incomparable Speculative Cardassian Reproductive Xenobiology (https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719479), but thanks also to some extra anatomical information and plenty of cheerleading from Cardassian_Kisses.
> 
> Other clarifications: the "emol" are the eye ridges, the "pumel" are the neck-to-shoulder ridges, and the "ojo" are the chin ridges on a Cardassian.


End file.
